


Stakeout

by ghostlingerie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mission Fic, Stakeout, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26894830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlingerie/pseuds/ghostlingerie
Summary: Two Overwatch agents on a rooftop, on a stakeout. What else could happen?
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	Stakeout

“Damn!”

“Told you.”

McCree snaps his fingers as he laughs, looking over to the small target that was pierced with an arrow. He puts a hand over his eyes, squinting. The arrow clearly managed to hit the centermost area, much to his surprise. 

“Well, I’ve lost all my money to the last bet. Here, have my whiskey.” He reaches for a small flask that was holstered to his belt, and hands it to the man standing next to him. “I appreciate it, but no. Besides, you should’ve known before we started that I’d manage to do everything you’ve thrown at me.” The archer lowers his bow and sets it on the ground, kneeling down to join the cowboy.

“Everything? Y’ sure about that?”

Hanzo scoffs. “That doesn’t count. We are on a stakeout.”

“Well, it does in my book. A little bit of yelling won’t startle the mark, darlin.”

Jesse feels a bit of color rise to his cheeks as Hanzo rolls his eyes and turns his head to look back at the breathtaking view. He dips his head, and chews on the end of his cigar, joining Hanzo in looking at the plethora of buildings. A little while back, they had both agreed to make their time on this obsolete rooftop eventful. Not like the mark would manage to evade their attention, no matter what they were doing. It’d be a while before they’ll be relieved by Genji and Tracer, they still had 3 hours on the clock. They were probably sharing the small bag of food that Winston had sent over for them. He chuckled, remembering the concerned and apologetic voice of the monkey over the comm.

“Fool.” He hears.

He looks beside him. Hanzo was still looking at the landscape, a smirk on his face. Was he legitimately mocking him? Jesse knew full well that Hanzo quipped words like this every now and then, but this was sudden. A part of him considered that Hanzo was actually attempting to flirt with him. If this was how he flirted, then McCree found it amusing, and enticing.

He takes that assumption and runs with it.

“Annoyin’,” he says, exhaling a mouthful of smoke.

Hanzo pauses, and stands up. He turns around, and walks forward, back against McCree. He had probably taken the reply in a wrong way. Before he begins stuttering out a quick explanation, he hears “You’re a good shot, too. Too bad you wear that stupid hat.” It was followed up with quiet laughter, and Jesse couldn’t help but follow after him.

“At least I have somethin’ on.” He nudges a shoulder on the side that isn’t covered by Hanzo’s kyudo gi. The dragons that traced along his arm, Jesse found, were considerably attractive. If his eyes aren't fooling him, the tips of Hanzo’s ears turn a soft shade of red. “This… This in homage of… You have no grounds to speak about what I choose to wear, gunslinger. “ McCree abruptly jumps to the side when Hanzo kicks at his spurs, a smirk returning to his face, flush still being maintained. Jesse turns to his right.

“Hey, now! No fair.” 

Hanzo looks at him, as if clueless. “Hm?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘hm?’ You kicked at my spurs, darlin,” McCree says, through laughter.

“I remember doing nothing of the sort.”

“Pfft, yeah. And I’m an eight foot tall bear.” He smiles with his teeth, and Hanzo’s smirk turns into a proper smile. That smile made Jesse feel warm all over. There was something about it that seemed to bright up Hanzo’s… Well, everything.

“Cheers, gentlemen!” A voice announces through his ear. He sees the eyes he’s looking at widen in surprise. They hadn’t expected Tracer to check in this early. Placing a hand next to his ear, he greets her back. “Howdy. How’re you doin there?” What followed was giggling and shuffling. “That’s what we were supposed to ask you guys. We’re doing ok, just playing truth or dare. Genji asked me to check up on you guys,” she says. “His dares are kinda boring compared to what I thought he’d give, though…” she mutters. 

Hanzo rests his hand on his ear. “You’re playing truth or dare. Did I hear that right? Aren’t you both over the age of 13?” “Hey, we’re all wearing the comms,” A robotic voice chimes in. “Sorry to bother you both.” 

After the stream of talking from the comms ceased, the two stood there in silence. Oddly enough, it felt like there wasn’t much discomfort. With a sigh, McCree puts the cigar in between his fingers and takes it out. “So, truth or dare, huh? Hadn’t played that since deadlock,” he mentions. “I haven’t played that since I was still a child,” Hanzo responds. McCree’s eyebrows rise. “Shall we? To pass the time.” The other man’s brow furrows. “Well, it’s no better than what we’ve already been doing.” McCree taps the ground, thinking of something fun to start with. 

“I’ll go first,” Hanzo says.

“Sure. Truth or dare?”

There’s a pause before Hanzo responds, “Dare.” He looks at McCree with a mischievous look, as if to say, ‘hit me with whatever you’ve got.’

McCree grins in turn. He reequips the small flask from his belt, and fiddles with it in his hand. “Drink at least half of this. And before you ask, yes, it’s full.” His grin turns into a shit eating grin as he sees the look on Hanzo’s face fade ever so slightly.

Hanzo mutters something in japanese as he swipes the flask from Jesse’s mechanical hand. The expression on McCree’s face displayed enjoyment as the archer downed the drink, eyes shut. He feels himself chasing color as his gaze moves from Hanzo’s face to his throat. The way it moved, anyway. It hadn’t dawned on him until a few moments later that he had been staring until Hanzo’s head tipped down, separating his lips from the top, grimacing.

“Unsophisticated taste.” He begins to cough, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Congrats, Han. Now,” McCree says, taking the flask that was shoved at him, “I’ll go for truth.” 

The coughing ceases. “Tell me, american.” Hanzo circles him, crossing his hands behind his back. “Mhm?” McCree’s eyes follow him, shifting to the other side when Hanzo returns to his original spot.

McCree maintains the wide grin he had earlier. It’s not as if Hanzo could ask him something that he wouldn’t give so easily. What is there to ask, anyway?

“Did you already know I’d win those bets? The ones you gave me.”

“Hah, you caught me, sweetheart.”

“I figured.” Hanzo steps forward. “Why would you purposefully give me bets you knew I’d win?” McCree brings the cigar to his mouth. “You’ll have to ask it next round.” A ‘tsk’ escapes Hanzo’s lips as he asks for a truth this time.

The cigar dances as Jesse ponders on what to ask. There were many questions he wanted to ask him, but he didn’t really know which one to ask, and how the other would react. He takes and throws out the cigar from his mouth, opening the flask again. He knocks it back, hoping the drink would make him act more jovial.

For better or for worse, it did.

Through slurred speech, he asks, “Do you enjoy these missions? With me, I mean.”

There it is again, Jesse notes. That color that chased Hanzo’s cheeks. After seeing that, it seems to chase his own cheeks again, as well.

Hanzo’s eyes sweep the ground, passing by the cigar that had fallen. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “I find your company tolerable.”

That response pleasantly surprised McCree. Despite it being a fine amount, maybe the alcohol reached Hanzo as well. There was no way he could’ve said that without a little incentive.

“Aw, you goin’ soft on me, Shimada?”

Hanzo doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns to Jesse, and begins to walk forward, getting alarmingly close. McCree stays planted where he was. His eyes slightly widen, as his hands subconsciously twitch. 

“McCree,” Hanzo breaths. McCree holds his breath.

Only for Hanzo to pass by him, reaching down to get the Stormbow, and swiftly aims it down. “Over there. She’s leaving,” he says, voice lowered and hushed.

McCree’s heart drops at least a thousand feet. He blinks, slowly registering what went down a few seconds ago. Gathering himself, although still in shock, he updates Genji and Tracer through the comms, whispering.

Collapsing could be heard through his ear, as if plastic was being tossed around in the room. “Mmf, okay. Genji will go down, and make sure this goes smoothly.” The sound of crunching follows. Perhaps Jesse had interrupted them while they were eating. “We’ll meet you back in our room afterwards.”

Hanzo hears quiet footsteps behind him as his eyebrows furrow, making sure that the arrow lands where he needs it to, when he needs it to. McCree, despite so many things swimming through his mind, opts to stay silent. He knows how important it is for him to make the shot, especially so, after they had just drank.

The hand holding the arrow trembles, the tension on the string of the bow apparent. McCree shows his index, middle, and ring finger, signaling a countdown. He lowers two of them in succession.

When the last finger falls, Hanzo’s hand opens, the altered arrow flying through the air, not making a noise. 

A perfect hit. Like before, McCree thinks. He regains his breath, impressed after having seen it. He’s seen Hanzo use the bow to perfection many times before, but something really accentuated this shot. He smiles and nods, confirming that the arrow had landed.

The arrow began to morph into a small tracker, parts of the arrow dislodging and scattering, not to be seen, disguised under the shaded streets. It was impressive, that arrow. McCree would have to ask Torbjorn about it next time.

A woman steps out of the dilapidated warehouse they were observing, two people following close behind her. Everyone observing sees her step on the tracker, and make her way towards a sleek van. The van drives away, Tracer whispering cheers of delight, the woman and her guards knowing none the wiser.

“It was a decent shot,” McCree retorts, voice brimming with mirth. “Yer pretty handy with that bow, though.” Another smile creeps on Hanzo’s face. “I appreciate the recognition.”

McCree closes his eyes and huffs. “I bet I coulda shot it better than you though. Too bad bullets can’t be silent. If they were though, I swear I could-”

He’s silenced by the feeling of warmth encompassing his body. 

Hanzo’s lips feel dry, but despite that, they were unbelievably welcoming. McCree’s lips part as he lifts his arm to rest and hold onto Hanzo’s waist. He could feel Hanzo rise onto the balls of his feet, and clutch at his serrape. Jesse’s heart soared at the sudden contact, deepening the kiss. 

The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears deafened him. He brings his other hand to the jet black hair, tugging, but not snatching at the cloth that secured it. The corner of his mouth twitches as their teeth click, Hanzo relaxing into the embrace, a sigh escaping his lips. They both pause, lips barely touching. McCree could smell the smoke from his own breath, and the scent of whiskey from Hanzo’s.

“This was pleasant,” Hanzo used the same tone of voice that he had used to call McCree’s name. “That’s one way to put it, yeah,” Jesse replies in soft laughter. He more so felt than heard that though, with Hanzo’s face taking residence on his shoulder. Voice still muffled, he says, “It’s been a long night, and I think we ought to join the others.” “I believe a successful night like this calls for a night of revelry,” Jesse replies.

He eases himself from McCree’s hold, his face still flush and the smile still plastered. McCree follows close behind. Looking around him, he tries to imprint the place into his mind. The city still looks great from here. He really didn’t want to forget it, and what took place on this rooftop.

The night went well, and revelry was definitely present, even though the celebration consisted of four people. Mercy and Winston’s voices chimed in every now and then, checking in on the group, happy to find them enjoying themselves.

Unbeknownst to the two, however, McCree wasn’t the only one who brought booze. The four agents progressively got more and more intoxicated as the night went on, emptying Lena’s tall jug of tequila. 

Genji and Tracer, after messing up the room and telling stories, dozed off. Each plastered themselves somewhere in an obscure location in the room, limbs splayed out. McCree and Hanzo, on the other hand, chose to take their time in the generously sized restroom for that night. They didn’t want to disturb the other two’s slumber with their own activities, after all.

Shifting in the bathtub, McCree winces as he brings a hand to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. The feeling of dizziness and nausea hit him like a truck. Oddly enough, his head wasn’t the only thing that felt like there was weight on it. He attempted not to move too much, in order to not disturb the man resting on him. 

The attempt had failed, as he heard a grumble emit somewhere near his chest. “Mornin,” McCree greets, his mouth feeling dry. Hanzo merely shifts his body as reply, and Jesse accommodates the change of position. 

McCree leans his head rest on Hanzo’s as he breathes in, tangling his hand into the cascading hair spilling unto his chest. “We’ll have to start moving in an hour. I’ll wake you then,” he whispers, planting a kiss on Hanzo’s head. Hearing a soft sigh, he smiles. At least, what he could manage.

They have a long day ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! Cheers.


End file.
